Monday, 1 August 2011

Down from the cliffs

Drifting fog:
the deft taunt of smoky wings floating the
aquamarine: its cloudy, bluey-green iris.

Here, down from the cliffs, where the water
treacherous-embracing glugs, hostaging rocks.

Dawn, dusk; inhale, exhale – breathing
light on this task immemorial: time’s
artistic etching of the details.

The accident of my back on this rock:
watching the rock pools dilate,
sensing the rise and fall of the diaphragm,

tabernacled in the vastness.

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